Henry Eugene

I carried Henry for 26 weeks and birthed him about 10 weeks after he died in my womb. I carried his little dead body for a time frame outside of the norm for most of the standards set in place today. I did so because my personal experiences have shown me that it is best to let nature run its course. My last “missed miscarriage” was “taken care of” by surgery and it was a terrible mess for a very long time resulting in a lot of blood loss, multiple surgeries, and depression. If ever there was a time where I was at risk for an infection, it was then. It’s no secret that I trust pregnancy and birth, but still these weeks were a sad and very confusing time. I was sad not just for me, but for women, and babies, and husbands, and children, and everyone who walks this path without proper respect and guidance to the process. Not just the process of grief from the fact that a baby has died but the process of letting our bodies work through whatever they are going through that our brains can’t understand but our bodies do. I don’t believe that God made our bodies inherently flawed, especially in such a huge way as reproduction. I know a lot of women feel that their body has failed them and I don’t want that to keep being the normal response to loss. The information is not all accurate. It’s contradictory at best and fear mongering at worst.

So, my story. Henry was conceived when he shouldn’t have been. I don’t mean because he wasn’t wanted but because of my cycle. I looked over my fertility calendar again and again wondering how, but that’s the beauty of natural family planning because even with our best resources and planning at hand, God still does what he wants. He wanted Henry to be. I had lessons to learn.

From the start of pregnancy, I was feeling pretty icky, especially about food, which was an ongoing issue ever since I had covid several months prior. I didn’t want to eat anything. I was loosing weight instead of gaining it. I wanted to feel my belly grow but it didn’t seem to want to. Unfortunately and reluctantly to admit, I was doubting this little baby’s viability from the start. I didn’t tell a lot of people that I was pregnant because it felt like a lie. My brain and my heart couldn’t quite connect. I kept looking for blood on the toilet paper at every bathroom trip, but that never happened. Then at 12 weeks my belly popped out and my fundal height was measuring accordingly. I was also able to eat a few more things and had energy back, which is pretty consistent with hitting the 2nd trimester. Still, I was not able to detect a heartbeat. So I scheduled an ultrasound. At the appointment we saw a dancing, waving, and wiggling baby showing off for us! I really couldn’t believe it. I was so happy. The placenta was anterior, meaning in front of the baby, which explained why I couldn’t get his heartbeat before. He looked perfect and measured 14 weeks and 5 days. The ultrasound tech asked if we wanted to know the gender. That was something we were not expecting so early and since we never found out with the other kids we were not sure what we wanted. Adam and I were both pretty sure we could tell though, so she put the results in an envelope for us. The next day my sister made a reveal cake for us and we got to celebrate him! A boy! It was a beautiful time and it felt so good to be able to share him with friends and family finally without feeling dread.

At 16 weeks I heard his heartbeat with the doppler and was measuring appropriately, not long after that I could feel him kicking and we picked his name! But by 18 weeks the kicks weren’t stronger, more noticeable, or consistent like I thought they should be. My fundal height hadn’t grown and I couldn’t hear his heart with the doppler. The battle between denial and hope started all over again. At my next appointment my midwife confirmed that I was measuring small and no FHT was detected. I scheduled another ultrasound. I had a few days to chew on the possibility that I’d be seeing a lifeless baby on the ultrasound screen. Wondering how big he’d be. Poking at my belly begging Henry to kick me. He didn’t. I cried. A lot.

On July 21, at the ultrasound, one peek as soon as the wand hit my belly was all I needed to see. He was gone. It was eerie and undeniable. The entire feel in the room was stiff, the smell was stale, the clicking of the keys was like a dead piano. Enough already. I looked at the ceiling tiles as the tech rolled the wand needlessly all over trying to find a sign of life. Then she said she had to leave the room. Adam and I sat there is awkwardness until she came back and then said we should go sit in the waiting room for the doctor to come talk to us. Those were the only two times she spoke to us. In the waiting room we waited for 45 minutes, talking about anything we could to keep the pieces together. The doctor never showed up. I asked the front desk and they told us to just go home. Adam was trying to get the receptionist to explain how and why, but there was no use. We knew Henry had died but no one said a word to us about it.

From the report sent to my midwife, Henry was measuring all sorts of weird measurements and no real time was confirmed as to when he died. At this point he could have been dead for 6 weeks, if 16 weeks is when he died, given the last time I heard his heart. Or 4 weeks if he was 18 weeks, but he most likely hadn’t lived passed that gestation. So what were my options? They all sucked. Waiting sucked, medication sucked, hospital Induction sucked, d&e sucked. It sucked. Adam and I decided not to jump into a decision too quickly. I had time to process. I asked my midwife friends, I referred to my textbooks. I asked Google and it quickly pointed me to “at home abortions”, thanks to political hysteria post roe v wade. No thanks, I wanted this baby. I searched and clawed my way through book after book scattered with mixed information. The old texts didn’t seem concerned in their 1-2 short paragraphs on miscarriage, saying that it will eventually end naturally. The newer texts said the opposite. There were some midwives who have dealt with it before with herbs and medications but the protocols were very mixed and inconsistent. Most women nowadays opt for medical management, understandably so. But it leaves very little information for women like me. So I gathered a few herbs and wrote a lot of notes to compare and came up with my own protocol that I was comfortable with.

I was still attending births during this waiting period and I was feeling a bit defeated. Several of them ended in non emergency transports and I couldn’t help feeling like it was my fault. My energy was down, maybe I wasn’t doing or saying the right things. I didn’t know exactly what it was but it was exhausting and I was doubting myself.

When I was called to another birth, I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t feeling up to see another woman give birth and snuggle her newborn when my future was falling to pieces. But I went, because what else am I supposed to do? I have been called to this work. So I went driving on the dark winding roads in the middle of the night. As I pulled into the driveway a greenhouse greeted me first then a tidy and charming home filled with the sounds of a laboring woman. We played the labor dance, getting into the rhythm of waves and rests, back pressure, hip squeezes, back rubs. Warm water. Cold cloth. Soon enough I was catching a slippery wet and snuggly warm baby. I passed her to her mother and marveled at it all. Life goes on. And it’s all beautiful.

The next day I was back to the reality of needing to face and plan for the future of birthing this baby in my own womb. I was just not comfortable with taking medication, especially not in the home setting. I was frustrated that even among friends and like minded women there were not many answers and that some of the advice I got was against my wishes. I had a dead baby in me, still pregnant, but not. My emotions were as anyone could expect. Wanting to sleep all day long. Wanting the baby to be born. Never wanting the baby to be born. Ready to stop looking 20 weeks pregnant, but not. I felt heavy physically and emotionally. Along with the researching, I was grieving. Those two liked to play tag with each other. Researching kept me busy but left me defeated because there was never a good answer. Grieving sent me back to researching. Then to soul searching. Why was I holding on? I really was ready to let go. Ready to move on. I said goodbye, I made peace. I prayed. I begged God to let the baby come out. I demanded. Still time ticked on. I did herbs, homeopathy, went camping and slept in a tent for a week hoping nature would ground me, I drank super concentrated red raspberry leaf tea, did more herbs, did more homeopathy, waited for a full moon, waited for a rain storm. Read some more. Then stopped. It didn’t feel right to keep trying. I knew my body would eventually go into labor and the baby would eventually be born. I knew it. But waiting sucks and there was definitely pressure from inside and outside sources that made me want to keep trying to get labor going, especially when I did start spotting and cramping at random times. But I reached my rope. It was about 9 weeks post death at that point. I had made my mind up early on that I would wait 12 weeks and then reach out to my obgyn, so I called and made an appointment knowing that it might take a few weeks to get in. What I never stopped doing though, was praying. Panicked prayers and peaceful prayers but what always felt right was simply praying for God’s will to be done. Going against His will is worse than struggling in quick sand. He wants to give us His peace, so I took it. But I had my one request that this baby be born at home whole and complete with the placenta. I said the novena of St. Monica, mother of St. Augustine, whom she prayed for and cried over for many years, and whose bishop told her that “a child of so many tears cannot be lost”. We do not know exactly what happens to babies that die before baptism, all we can do is lean on God’s mercy and grace and trust that children of so many tears cannot be lost and that they are perfect souls in heaven. Sts. Monica and Augustine’s feast days are August 27 and 28th, the 28th being my birthday. It felt right and the timing turned out to be beautiful.

The funny thing is that my two biggest supporters were my husband and my dad. Men. Right?! It was undoubtedly hard on them, but they stayed consistent in their support, love, kindness, and encouragement. “God’s not stupid”, “Give yourself time”, “It’s ok” were among the many words said. Adam held down the fort, gave me space, gave me love, gave me food. I don’t know how. Of course it wasn’t always the perfect. Helping a depressed pregnant woman who is carrying your dead baby and obsessing over books and blog posts and collecting more herbs than a witch is pretty hard work. Adam was the one who realized that I was nesting. He didn’t see the crazy cleaning, throwing away of things, and painting of walls as anything other than nesting. Getting everything in order was my last little hurrah, even though I didn’t notice it myself.

But then one day, my body was ready. On August 23rd, ten and a half weeks after Henry may have died, contractions started at 2pm as easy little cramps, every 5 minutes. By 7 pm they were coming every 1-2 minutes and getting just about as pinchy as I remember from my other miscarriages at home. I tried being alone in my room hoping that it would just get things over and done with but it was also bedtime and I wanted to be able to tuck the kids in and let them see that I was ok. As I was rocking Rob the contractions started coming constantly. As soon as one would end another would start before I was able to take a breath. Adam finished putting Rob to sleep and I went to the bathroom. I went back and forth from the tub to the toilet. Really enveloped in the contractions that were not stopping. No rests. My midwife brain was running through every thing that could have been wrong with the non-stop pain. Uterine rupture, placenta abruption, but there was no blood and there was no baby to worry about. Nothing to do but keep going. There were moments of panic and fear because those contractions just did not stop. I tired to calm myself down and breathe but the intensity was insane. Adam was with me the whole time. Not saying much or doing much. He was just there with me in that space. I cried “why, why, why,” over and over during one really crazy contraction. Why did I have to do this, why so much pain, why did I have to give birth to a dead baby. I knew why and I had gone over it in my head many times before. But damn. Then there was a fly. Buzzing. Flickering here and there. It needed to die. And it did. On the toilet I felt so much pressure, but I was still so unsure of when to push or not. I felt in and I was about 4cm with a big bulge of bag coming out. I was still really confused about how much more I’d have to go. But I was definitely pushing and pooping, a part of the process no one wants to talk about. Still not much blood. Still so much different from my first trimester miscarriages. Still so much different from my live births. But still so much the same. I was hot and cold, sweating and naked, shaking. Holding a cold cloth to my face and yelling into the towel. After sitting on the toilet until I was sick of it, I went to stand up and I felt a roll of heat bulge between my legs. The next thing I knew I was holding the sac gently and waiting for the last bit to be born. The pain was instantly gone. I locked eyes with Adam and a realization and clarity came over me. I said to him, “I did it, it’s over, it is whole, the placenta and sac.” I was still surprisingly not bleeding much. I held it for a minute than put it in a container we had ready, Henry was still inside the sac and not visible at this point. I just had to sit there for a minute and gather myself. Then I went to Adam and held onto him. Talking and explaining things to myself more than to him. We had time, no need to rush anything. I felt my uterus to see how it was doing, just fine. I got dressed. Wiped my brow and finally took a deep breath. I took the pause with grace and gratefulness. I was so thankful, grateful, and happy but so sad. Such a surge of emotions and hormones. Just like a live birth. Just not. I went to hold Henry, still in the sac, I picked it up gently in my hands, I felt his little bones floating inside of his soft warm home. The placenta looked whole and normal. The sac was very hard to break, I needed to use a pin to pierce it. The amniotic fluid poured out and it was tan colored. I was expecting that or worse. I told Adam that Henry might not look normal, he could be discolored, ugly, misshapen. But as the veil was removed and the fluid was drained, there he was. Beautiful, whole, perfect. Not a thing visibly wrong with him. Perfectly preserved. We looked at him and marveled over his body. Being careful not to damage his skin now that he was out of water and into air. Fingers, toes, nails, beautiful lips and a tongue. He had hip bones just like the other kids with cute little back dimples. His umbilical cord was also perfect. He was totally formed and unique. I laid him on top of his very own outfit, picked and bought just for him, and folded the sleeves around his chest. I choose a Christmas box to place him in because he was to be my first fall/winter baby. Yes, I did some fretting over how I would take care of a newborn in the winter, all of my others being spring and summer babies. Silly now. Adam had a few moments with Henry. Then we both just held each other.

That night and the next day I didn’t do much sleeping, I was tired of course, but those birth hormones always keep me wide awake. Re-living everything that had just happed and looking over the pictures we took of Henry. I wasn’t bleeding much at all but my body was very very sore. It could have been from the 2 hours of constant contractions, the pushing, the grabbing, the pacing, the chasing of that damn fly in the bathroom like a mad woman and swinging the fly swatter around, the who-knows-what. Of course it was in my mind that it could be my uterus inverting, rupturing, or an infection bubbling up. So I watched myself for the next 48 hours with a hawks eye. I took my temperature and vitals, felt my uterus, took vitamins and arnica, but all the pain eventually fizzled away. 4 days later, on the feast of St. Monica, I had several large clots and heavy bleeding then passed what could have been a very small piece of retained placenta. After that my uterus was no longer palpable and the bleeding tapered out to nothing. Then I got hives. Everywhere. They came and went for about 5 days. It was insanely itchy and apparently totally normal for about 20% of postpartum women. Who knew? By 2 weeks postpartum I felt like I was back to myself, lighter and freer. Then my cycle returned a few weeks after that putting my body back in its rhythm like nothing ever happened.

Even though the waiting was hard. I am actually grateful for it. I was able to unload all of my feelings during that time. Be angry with it. Come to terms with it. Accept it. I believe that my body knew what it was doing the whole time. My body didn’t fail me. It was processing, absorbing, feeling, making it as easy as possible to come to terms with the sadness and grief it was feeling. It was working the whole time. Henry was born at home and into my hands. He was even breech! My body took care of itself. I am so grateful for the healing I was able to do while still holding on to his little body.

Praise God who does not make mistakes.

Julie Ann Margaret Gebhart Eckenrode

It has been one year since my Mom passed on to her forever home. One year. It has gone slow. It has gone fast. There have been days when I do not think about my mom at all. There have been days when I can’t stop thinking about her. Life moves on and up and around and down and here and there. And just like babies are born, loved ones die, and just like loved ones die and babies are born, stories are made to be told. I can only give an account of my experience of that night, everyone who was there saw it differently and experienced it differently. But I think we can all agree that it was beautiful.

It has been one year. One year ago on a perfectly ordinary Sunday. After a perfectly ordinary week. One year since a perfectly ordinary day turned into an extraordinary night.

One year since I heard her labored breathing.

Washed her discolored skin.

Massaged lotion onto her cold, limp hands and feet.

Brushed her coarse grey hair.

Traced the shape of her face with my fingers. Trying to drink in every wrinkle and imperfection. Knowing it would be gone so so soon.

Held her limp body in my lap and entwined my arms around her like she was a small sleeping child.

I sang to her and told her of my love.

I had extra alone time with her that day and I will cherish it always. Her smell was different. Her look was different. She wasn’t really her any more. Yet she still was. A sacred space between this life and the next. Floating in air yet grounded in that bed. Just like when a baby is being born. It is familiar and ordinary and common. Yet it is completely mystical.

Then we, her family, gathered around, in her house, in her room, in her bed that had to be meticulously made, primped, and fluffed. The grandchildren she loved and snuggled, the grandchild she would not get to meet in this life, the girls she watched grow into adulthood and the baby girl she only had for 13 years. The men her girls had married. The Man she loved. We piled around her. Held her hand. Kissed her head. Then we prayed and chanted to her of Jesus’s Divine Mercy. I was on her left side. Fingers rolling on the beads. The other hand running through her hair, rubbing her arm, holding her hand that did not hold back. Watching the breath rise and fall in her chest. The air held peace and time and space. It was only 15 minutes. Then as we closed our prayer with an “Amen” she took her last breath, looked at her beloved, and went to Heaven.

Robert Thomas

Robert Thomas May 8th 2020 8lbs 9oz

I became pregnant in August. I was so nervous, excited, ready.  But mostly pretty terrified that I would miscarry again.  I had several early ultrasounds this time around to put my mind at ease, each time, there baby was, happy and swimming!

My Mom knew that she would only have 7 grandchildren here on Earth, a gift that Mary had given her when she discovered that she had cancer, and this baby would have been #8.  I knew that if I told her she would be worried that I would miscarry or she would be worried that her death was near. I knew that this new joy of mine would be sorrow for her, so I never told her.  Though, I think she did know, she’s my mother after all! And we had sort of an unspoken understanding that words can’t describe, but eyes can.  She died in November, I was three month pregnant, due to give birth on Mothers day.

I needed to find a new midwife because my former midwife had retired.  I was not really looking forward to birthing with someone new because midwives, even homebirth midwives, are so very different in their philosophy and approach to care in pregnancy, birth, and postpartum.  I knew for sure that I wanted someone who would pray for me, someone who wouldn’t mind my labor prayers, and someone who valued me as a woman.  Dove Charity Midwifery fit that bill for me and they are a great group of women!

Pregnancy was fine, no complications or risks, coffee and cumin were my worst enemies in the first trimester but when that went away I was great.  30 weeks rolled around, and like usual, I started getting rolly polly.  My belly was constantly measuring 5-8 weeks ahead (like usual for me and diastasis recti plays a big part in that) and the aches and pains really set it.  I had an awful burning/tearing sensation in my lower belly that I had never had before in my other pregnancies, just when I thought my belly was stretched out enough after 4 other babies, it just kept on going!  I was very determined not to get too crazy about my due date and not to let myself become anxious because my last 3 babies have all been late, so I decided to make two baby quilts to pass the time, one if the baby was a boy and one if the baby was a girl.  It was nice to sit on the birth ball and quilt!  The era of COVID slapped us all in the face at the beginning of my 3rd trimester and stirred up a whole new family dynamic.  I didn’t leave the house expect for my appointments and Adam started working from home and took over the family grocery trips, which was a pretty huge change, but nothing too intense to deal with as we were already homeschooling, gardening, and tending chickens! I will say, that looking back, it was a very enjoyable spring.

I really really prayed that this birth would be easy for me. Fast. Simple. I know my body pretty well at this point and I am honestly not the best birther.  I am not a very graceful pregnant lady and I am not a very good birther. There, I said it. I really wish that I was quiet, clean, and beautiful when I birth, but that’s just not it for me.  I’ve seen enough women give birth beautifully to have birth envy, so if I can’t birth nice and neat I at least wanted it to be fast and simple.  I did more labor prep than I had before and I did it more thoroughly, like drinking a lot of red raspberry leaf tea, practicing “spinning babies” exercises for optimum fetal positions, and a little bit of evening primrose oil towards to very end.  I was feeling confident and ready but not in a hurry.

Adam and I were watching The Patriot the night of May 7th and my stomach was gurgling like crazy, it felt like the baby was dropping and making a lot of room and air bubbles in my upper belly, not anything I remember experiencing before.  I went to sleep pretty quickly that night in denial that anything could possibly happen before my due date of May 10th.  But at 2am (May 8th) I woke up with a sticky wet feeling and went to the bathroom to see some mucus plug and a good bit of liquid…but no way that my water could break yet because that’s not what usually happens…so I went back to bed to try to sleep, but water kept coming out.  I told Adam that my water did indeed break and I was going downstairs to get things set up in the birth room.  Contractions started very quickly and very close together, the real deal for sure! I brewed labor aid to drink and herbs for post-birth, I made up the bed, unpacked some things here and there, and braided my hair, Adam got chicken soup out of the freezer, just the usual pre-birth excitement rush stuff.

Contractions were serious, I could feel it was moving really fast!  Adam put on the Chaplet of Divine Mercy for me and I did my labor/prayer thing.  It was a really enjoyable 3 hours. I could feel the baby moving down and my cervix opening.  I remember saying to Adam after a huge wave about how bad it felt but how good it felt.  He could tell that it was time to call the midwife!  She arrived with her Junior Midwife and stayed in the kitchen most of the time besides the few times they checked the baby’s heartbeat and my stats.  It was still early morning at this point, still darkish, maybe 6am when my contractions went from feeling great and productive to feeling absolutely awful.  My midwife checked my dilation and I was at 10, but I had a little lip of cervix still covering the baby’s head and it was getting swollen. I felt like I could push, but pushing didn’t feel productive. I felt a huge wave of hopelessness come over me and it was terrifying.  Contractions were all over the place, some short and okay, others lasted for minutes and I couldn’t find any comfort from anywhere.  I had terrible, terrible back labor and leg cramps.  I was weepy and sad.  I needed a lot of support.  I said to my one other midwife that the 5th baby should not be this hard! She said that her 5th was her worst one too, which was actually reassuring. I spent some time in the shower and the water felt nice, but the contractions where just too much. I was on my knees leaning over onto the bed most of the time, but then I was coaxed back on the bed and onto my side because of the way my cervix was swelling.  Then my midwife asked if she could hold my cervix back as I pushed to speed things up.  I was desperate for labor to be over despite the incredible pain.  Baby’s head crowned immediately! But that was it. Just the head. I pushed and pushed, but nothing.  He was stuck.  Then in a blur of hands and voices I was moved onto my hands and knees, pushing, praying, sweating.  Back on my back. Legs pushed way back.  Pressure on my belly, pressure everywhere.  Those short moments felt like an eternity, every muscle, every ounce of strength, every prayer-from everyone.  A prayer of surrender and humility.  Agonizing cries and terrified screams.  An out-of- body experience connecting me to every woman since Eve who has ever given birth and everyone who has ever helped a mother bring her new life forth.  Three women and the Holy Spirit helped me get my baby out.  I grabbed him, felt he was a boy! A heartbeat. A pulsing cord still delivering oxygen. But no cry.  Three puffs of air and he there he was!   Thank you, God!  I held him and snuggled him, so soft, warm, and wet.  He was perfect.  He had no problems pinking up or breathing on his own after the few puffs. No bruising.  It was like he just had a peaceful and calm entry into the world and not one of the worst cases of shoulder dystocia that my midwives have seen.  I, thankfully, had no tearing or bruising either and the least amount of blood loss that I’ve ever had in childbirth.

Adam snuggled Baby Robert Thomas while I got comfortable in bed.  One midwife made coffee, one made scrambled eggs, and one stayed in the room with me and cleaned up.  It was 8:22am when Robert was born. 6 hours after labor started. It was fast, but was it simple? Was it a homebirth fail?  Was it scary and dangerous? As I was sitting in bed drinking and eating and snuggling my baby I contemplated all of these things.  With the soft chatter and busyness of women talking about Robert’s birth, cleaning dishes, washing laundry, cleaning up blood, taking care of me-still open and raw from birth, smiling and delightful. Nope, not a homebirth fail.  The midwives were perfectly capable and well trained with old wisdom to take care of the situation. Most of all, God lead me to it and he lead me through it. 

After birth, at my appointments, the midwives were really great.  They asked me how I felt about my birth,  if I had my “first cry” yet, if I wanted to talk about anything or process out loud with them. That level of care far surpasses anything that I’ve had before.  I loved that they cared about me as a whole.  Surprising as it may seem with how difficult birth was, I was not traumatized from it. It happened. It was rough. I was deathly scared for a few moments when Robert was stuck. But this birth has been my easiest to forget and my easiest to heal from.  All by Gods love and grace! 

I really believe that the Holy Spirit will guide those who seek guidance.  For me, pregnancy, birth, motherhood- it’s all spiritual.  I have said “yes” to God.  I have let him be the ruler over my life, especially when it comes to children.  It’s been hard and scary.  I have spent many days and nights thinking it over and wondering if I am crazy.  Adam and I have had many conversations about which child we would give back if we could and the answer is always “none of them!” So, ultimately, I have peace, and God has been with me through it all. I know that this is the vocation that I am called to, this time in my life is devoted to raising up children, to give glory to God. My present is their future. I would be more crazy to ignore God’s call, no matter how insignificant it may seem. In motherhood, I pray with my feet, running around fulfilling all of the demands of my family, giving it back to God.  Even in birth, I turn labor into prayer.  I trust that God, who has asked this of me, will not forsake me and it will all be well.  Even when it’s not, it is.

(If you or anyone you know is in need of a catholic, christian, and/or pro-life birth professional, this sight might help you! https://www.catholicbirth.com/  This is an incredible recourse! )

Francis

 

Two weeks ago my family and I were thrilled with anticipation at the arrival of the fifth baby to enter our family, due in May 2019.  But so much has happened leading up to then and in the space between then and here.

In the beginning of October after really no signs of pregnancy I took a test, just because.  It read positive instantly. I was shocked. Mad even.  I had just lost 60 pounds of weight from my pregnancy with Emily and was just starting to feel the freedom from her getting bigger and more independent. I was not ready at all for the toils of pregnancy and childbirth for the 5th time. But in the end I was still happy to welcome another person into our family.  I was already 8 weeks pregnant.  Through telling my children and family about the pregnancy it became more real and the love and excitement grew tremendously.  My sister also found out that she was pregnant and due around the same time as me. Cousins, friends, and acquaintances also announced their pregnancy with the same spring due date.  The amount of new lives was incredible and thrilling!

I had strong nausea, achyness, and fatigue. Nothing out of the ordinary for the first trimester.  I had my first midwife appointment at 13 weeks, as is usual with a homebirth. Vitals and bloodwork looked great.  Uterus was big for age, as is usual for me. However, the heart beat wasn’t detected. But since it is still hard to hear that early on and I was still feeling all the feels, we were not worried. But then 2 weeks after that my symptoms disappeared and I felt like I wasn’t growing much anymore.  I didn’t feel pregnant.  I suspected something was wrong but I tired to stay positive. I didn’t have any cramping or bleeding, so that was all good!

I drove to my 17 (almost 18) week appointment expecting the worse.  We had a Christmas party that night and my husband was hours away in the city for work, the perfect storm.

The appointment went well, I told my midwife how I was feeling.  My uterus had still grown to size.  But still no heartbeat.  I called to schedule an ultrasound from her office for a few hours later.  Left with hugs of encouragement.  Called this person and that to make arrangements for the ultrasound. Fed the kids, then we were off.

I knew, I just knew. But I didn’t want to believe it.

In the room, I couldn’t look at the screen.  The US tech was quiet, clicking away.  Then, after what felt like an eternity, she told me that there was no movement and no heartbeat. She asked if I wanted to look and I did. It was a tiny itty bitty baby.  Not the 17 week baby that I was expecting.  She said the baby stopped growing at 8 weeks and my uterus stopped growing several weeks after that.  I left holding back tears and praying for strength.

I called my midwife and she suggested that I contact an obgyn as soon as possible because she had never seen a case where the baby had been gone for 2 months but the pregnancy was still going.  She told me what to expect and me gave her love.

The next day I saw the Doctor and a D and C was scheduled for two days out.  Everyone, including me, was worried about infection, though I had no pain or tell tail signs.  So much had happened in such a short period of time. It felt like time stood still yet sank away incredibly quickly.  At home we were preparing for Christmas and immersing ourselves in Advent, it was perfectly wonderful and perfectly awful.  I found myself crying out to my “daddy” in heaven like a little lost child. To my brother and “mama” for comfort and grace.  They answered back with whispers of love.  I sobbed.  My neck and back ached and became so stiff I could hardly move and my vision became blurry.  I didn’t know if it was stress or the beginning of an infection but I was just freaked out.

The day of the procedure came.  Everyone was caring and it was as good of an experience as it could have been.  I was put to sleep and woken up a few hours later.  I had lost “a lot” of blood and was as white as a tissue and so weak.  But no sign of infection was found.  I was discharged and taken care of by my wonderful husband. I had awful cramps, bleeding, bloating, and a tender abdomen. The doctors won’t tell you just how bad you will feel afterwards or how many times you’ll ask google if what you are experiencing is normal, but, alas, a miscarriage is always painful and scary, no matter if it’s natural or surgical.

It’s been two weeks.

I feel okay physically now, just tired of bleeding.  Emotionally I don’t know.  I am sad.  But happy in this season of Christmas.  Mostly I feel humbled.  The more children I have and the more experiences that I go through the thing that I learn is that I have no control, I’m not that great.  The only true and perfect thing is our Lord’s love and he loves me so much.  He loves my baby more than I can imagine and he is holding Francis in the palm of his hand.

The hardest part for me has been that I have no reminder, so way to physically grieve.  I was not given an ultrasound picture and forgot to ask for one. I was not able to bring Francis home from the hospital, as he was ”just tissue”.  I guess most people think it’s easier without those things.  However, I birthed Raymond at home, I saw his body, I buried him.  Francis’s body is lost somewhere in a pile of trash.  And that is SO hard.  I know his soul is in heaven and that is the most important and comforting thing. God knew my intentions to baptize and my love for this baby.  He is well taken care of now. But I still feel like I am missing a piece to the grieving puzzle.

From the very beginning of this pregnancy I had been using “my body broken for you” as my mantra.  I was very much looking forward to this baby, but not to the pain, weight, and toll it would take on my body, so I offered it up in unison with Christs passion. Little did I know what God really had in store.  A miscarriage is 100 times worse than pregnancy and childbirth. It’s so heavy.

My family is amazing and I draw strength from them.  Really and truly.  I love my husband and his caring support.  His heart is compassionate and his ears always listen.  My children are understanding and they help the best that they can. Drawing pictures, giving hugs, and “helping” me up with their little arms.  It is Christmas and somehow I still managed to wrap all the presents and make all the cookies.  It has been a blessing to see the lights and hear the songs.  To give glory.

I don’t know yet what is in store for me and my future children.  This is my third miscarriage and second baby that I have lost. The 7th time my hormones and uterus went into childbearing mode.  It’s all unusual.  Of course I am thankful for the  living, healthy, and thriving children that I have the grace of holding.  But there is emptiness and confusion.  Little by little it will be revealed.

***Now it  has been three and a half weeks.  I was hoping to be done with the physical part of my miscarriage but I feel like I am back to square one.  At my 2 week obgyn appointment my blood was tested and my pregnancy hormone (hcg) was still 700.  It should have dropped to zero within a day or two after surgery.  The doctor said to come back in a week to test my blood again but she was out of the room faster than I could spit out my list full of questions. I was herded out of the office like an animal.  At home I was feeling more emotional and hormonal than ever, getting upset at every little thing.  Then at 3 weeks and 1 day post surgery I was enjoying a nice night with my family, feeling very happy and energetic, when out of no where I felt a huge gush of blood. Up until this point I had not had fresh bleeding for the past week, but brownish spotting.  In the bathroom I had bright red bleeding everywhere and I passed some pea sized clots.  I was able to get up and had controlled bleeding for a few minutes before the gushing started again.  I was stuck on the toilet watching blood just flow out of me. I passed a large strawberry sized clot.  I had no pain or cramps at all during this, which to me,  made it so weird.  I called the hospital and was told that this was probably my first period post D&C and to take mortin and relax, but to come in if I soaked through 3 pads in 3 hours.  At this point I couldn’t even get off the toilet to properly monitor the blood flow because it was coming out so fast. I was shaking and freezing and scared and she told me it was just a normal period and to relax? So after a deep breath and the realization that I was not going to get any help from the “professionals” an epiphany came over me, I am a badass homebirther and I am prepared for shit like this! I pulled myself off of the toilet and got a tincture out of my medicine cabinet that stops bleeding in case of a hemorrhage. Adam met me at the bathroom door and held me as a sobbed and told me that this was the miscarriage that I needed. To be home. To pass whatever I was holding on to. He was right. And strong and wonderful.  While I was freaking out he had made plans for someone to come in case I had to go to the hospital and had done his own research and soul searching to do the best to help me. I sat on the couch and drank A LOT of water and calmed down, meanwhile overflowing another pad full of blood.  I went back to the toilet and passed a huge feeling clot that plopped when it hit the water and then bleeding calmed down.  We went to bed and bleeding stopped.  It has now been 3 days since then and I have more of the brown spotting.  Is this over now? I have no idea.  Will this happen again? Maybe.  But it is clear that my d&c was not complete even with ultrasound guidance, things were still left behind, and I hemorrhaged because of it.

*** It has now been over 5 weeks since we found out that Francis had died.  I am, yet again, back to the very beginning of my healing process and it feels like things will never be right again.  I hemorrhaged again 5 days ago, which was exactly one week after my first hemorrhage, a Saturday.  This time I lost 4 clots the size of my hand!  I was playing monopoly with my family after breakfast when I felt the first gush of blood.  In the bathroom I lost the first, hard, jello like clot and filled a pad of blood. For the next few hours I spent my time alternating between drinking water and sitting with my feet elevated and walking to the bathroom to pass more clots in various consistencies but all the size of my hand!  I was cramping this time so I was hoping that would help pass what my body needed to pass and help things end sooner.  The kids went to their Grandmom’s house.  Adam and I waited at home and monitored blood loss and how I was feeling.  I had been feeling lightheaded and dizzy all week long but it hadn’t gotten worse.  Blood and clots stopped and I spent the rest of that day laying in bed or on the couch.

The next day, Sunday, I had no bleeding but I called and left a message with my doctor hoping that by the time I called during office hours they would have already had the ball rolling on the ultrasound and blood work that I requested. When I called the next day, Monday morning, I was reprimanded for not getting the bloodwork done sooner and was told that I couldn’t have the ultrasound until the bloodwork was done and the results were in.  When I asked the nurse if the blood work should come second to finding out if there was still retained tissue in my uterus causing hemorrhages I was “politely” hung up on. I called back and was told that my doctor would call me back. Then when I called again 30 minutes later I was told that my doctor was actually out of the office until February!

Adam contacted his cousin Melissa who worked in Labor and Delivery and she suggested that we call her Doctor and make an appointment ASAP and told Adam other important information.  In no time I was scheduled with a new Doctor at a new office, though still in the same network so they still had all of my history.  We jumped in the car and were off.  At the office I was taken back and seen by a doctor in no time.  An ultrasound was done. Then we met with another Doctor, the one we wanted, and he said another d&c was needed ASAP.  After joking about football and talking about my hemorrhages I was sent for blood work to see if I was anemic from so much blood loss this month.  The Doctor said he would have a transfusion ready if I needed one. ( I cannot say enough good things about Dr. Ballas.  He has a great personality- empathetic and confident.)

Then Adam and I went on our first solo date in over a year and a half! Ironic isn’t it?

Almost as soon as I left the office, I got a call saying that I was scheduled for surgery for 4pm the next day and to check in at 2pm.

Emotionally I was checked-out.  I pushed it away was better.  The Doctor said it sucked and he was so sorry it happened.  Everyone was praying.  I was so grateful for those things but I was “blah”, ya know? Maybe just in shock?

At home I was praying that I wouldn’t hemorrhage again in the mean time, that would have been a mess.  Thankfully I held out until the next day.  As soon as I was checked in, the process of getting my vitals and talking with the nurses went super fast, unlike last time when I was in a room waiting for 2 hours.  The Dr was ahead of schedule and I was in the operating room super fast.  It was a lot different this time because of the different nurses and doctor.  I was put to sleep, woken up, and back in recover before my surgery was even supposed to start! The doctor said there was still a large amount of tissue left over but he was confident that he got it all and I had very minimal blood loss and there was no transfusion necessary or sign of infection! I actually still had color in my cheeks when I went to the bathroom to clean up and change, unlike last time when I was so pale I couldn’t recognize myself.

It has been 2 days since the surgery and I am not in any pain, contrary to last time.  The pain might still come, but so far so good.  I am not excited about this recovery time but I am hopeful that it will be much different than last time since the surgery is, as far as we know now, complete.  Just a lot of rest and recuperation in my future.

I would not wish this on anyone and if you or anyone you know has or will experience anything like this, please make sure you are being properly taken care of by your doctor, if you are not, demand it! It is okay to make noise, to speak up, to keep calling.  It took me too long to realize that.  Feel free to reach out to me if you would like to talk about any of my experiences.  And a big thank you to everyone who has been praying, advising, and checking up on me.

 

 

Emily May

Life with three little children was filled to the brim with fun and love! I really couldn’t imagine my life with a fourth baby, but I also acknowledge God as the creator of life and if it is His will that I have more babies, then I’m not stopping him, past what I see as a responsible way of natural child spacing and family planning.  After Samuel was born I really struggled with what our “birth control” plan should be.  His birth was pretty tough at the end and I could still “feel” the discomfort of it and wasn’t excited about giving birth again.  However, through lots (and lots) of prayers and tears I heard the calling of another child, a girl.  I didn’t know when it would happen but I knew that I couldn’t stop her from coming earth-side.

Adam told me I was pregnant before I took a test, like he has done every single time.  There was a part of me that didn’t want to be pregnant and a part of me that was overjoyed with the gift of a new life.  The busyness of life as it was took precedence over my swelling belly.  We had just started our second year of home school and were in the throws of Fall harvest. Pregnancy symptoms weren’t very prominent besides being tired and slightly nauseous.

I told my extended family at Thanksgiving and had my fist prenatal appointment the following day at around 12 weeks.

I started feeling movement around 18 weeks.

All routine test results came back perfect, though with a decent vitamin D deficiency that I worked on correcting (which explained my pretty extreme tiredness) Sugar, blood pressure, protein, etc. were all great.

I was measuring 5 weeks ahead of schedule around the 20 week mark, which isn’t unusual for me, my uterus just seems to like that spot. Nevertheless I had an ultrasound at 23 weeks to just track baby’s size.  Baby measured right on schedule but was breech. We DID NOT find out the baby’s sex although I really wanted to this time around for convinces sake more than anything else.  Even though many babies are usually breech at 23 weeks, none of my other babies were, so it caused me some really great anxiety for a long time.  I was already practicing a lot of spinning-babies techniques to make sure baby was in an optimal delivery presentation.  Then, when I found out baby was breech, I started to go to the Chiropractor for some pretty intense pubic and pelvic bone adjustments. I did Forward Leaning Inversions, Breech Tilts, and even took some homeopathic medicine supposed to shape and relax the uterus to encourage baby to turn.  I looked into which hospital I’d have a c-section at and what my options were in that regard.  But finally, the baby turned at 34 weeks. Whether it was just timing or if it was all those crazy things I did, we will never know…but I was THRILLED!

Feeling this baby move in my belly was so different compared to my other babies because my placenta was in the back.  I could feel the little legs and fists instead of just big bulges and bumps.  I had Braxton Hicks since 25 weeks but no other body cramps, Hallelujah!

My due date neared and I was trying not to get excited about it because I tend to deliver late. I was also still a little nervous about giving birth and I wasn’t in too much discomfort-though my belly had grown to a size even bigger than my previous pregnancies! But the date was coming and I tried my best to get myself ready emotionally for it.

In the evening on Wednesday June 14th, the day after my first sons birthday, I was finishing up the novel that I was reading when I felt the first “real” contraction.  They started coming every 10 minutes but were not getting any stronger than a slight twinge of discomfort. Through the evening and all night long they stayed the same.  I went to bed around 11pm and at 2am I came down to my “birth room” to finish sleeping.  No changes.   I was kind of thankful for that because I just wasn’t ready to give birth yet.  In the morning contractions got lighter and about 20-40 minutes apart.  I was in no rush to get things going and I think that attitude is what kept things stringing along so slowly, but I’m sure those contractions weren’t in vain and did aid in dilation.  My mom came and got the big kids around 11am (Thursday the 15th).  After that I didn’t know if I wanted to lay down and sleep or start walking to get contractions moving. In the end, laying down won. Then, when that got boring, I walked around the house. I cleaned the kids bedrooms.  Took a shower.  Put on some mascara.  Checked over my birth supplies again. Around 7pm I was ready to get things moving.  I was bored and figured there wasn’t a better time than now!  So far contractions were still weak and 20-40 minutes apart. (This is were things get really interesting!) I was laying down looking at the clock and I told my body that it was time for a good contraction.  I started deep breathing and then I got one! Then I told my body that I needed them to come every 5 minutes.  When the time came, I started deep breathing and sure enough a contraction would roll in. I stayed focused on them for an hour then they just took over and I was in full fledged labor!  At 9:30pm my Midwife said she was coming over. I prayed a Mercy Chaplet and for all of the special intentions that were on my list and my own personal intention.  Through this labor standing and walking felt the best and counter-pressure on my back helped immensely.  I was just doing my thing.  Praying.  Walking.  Leaning.  My amazing midwife arrived around 10:15pm and her assistant around 11pm.  It was dark and cozy in the house and I welcomed each contraction while everyone else whispered softly, read books, and watched TV.  They checked on me every once in a while to hear the baby’s heartbeat and to see if I needed anything. They came into the birth room and set up everything that was needed for birth when my midwife knew that birth was close.  My contractions were right on top of each other at this point and it was very exciting.  I didn’t know what time it was but I knew labor was moving fast!  My midwife was asking me how my energy levels were and if I wanted to eat or drink anything.  Adam suggesting a few things to eat and just the thought of them made me want to throw up.  And so I did.  I had one HUGE contraction and called for the puke bucket.  Then, because I’m a mom and it’s ingrained in me, I walked myself to the bathroom and flushed that stuff down the toilet and rinsed the bucket all the while thinking to myself how silly it was that I was doing that. But that’s life, baby.  Just as I was getting tired of the contractions they slowed down and I was getting pushy.  I was so happy and it was very peaceful. I was standing up holding onto Adam for support and I knew our baby would be here soon.  Contractions started getting intense again and I was instantly drenched in sweat.  My MW was about to do a vaginal check when my bag of waters bulged out still intact like a softball between my legs (gross!) That’s when Adam, so like himself, said “Well, that’s what it feels like to be a man!”.  Through a few more contractions it popped and fell away. That’s when I got leg cramps from laying and sitting on the bed awkwardly, and let me tell ya, they felt worse than the contractions did! I made my way to the floor on my hands and knees and instantly felt better.  Through a few contractions and a lot of hard pushes, Baby emerged, very slowly. Forehead, chin, neck.  Then I lifted on leg up and shoulders came out followed by the rest of her.  Adam caught her and handed her up to me.  My new, beautiful, slippery, newborn.  A girl! I rubbed her and talked to her. So much happens in that little moment; towels being passed around,  heartbeats counted,  happy and relieved sighs, excitement all around. But it is also one of the rare moments when time stands still.  The hardest work is over but the hardest work has also just begun.

Emily May Raver – June 16, 2017 – 1:54 am – 8lbs 4oz – 20 inches long

Last pregnant profile

Just in labor… no big deal :)

Birth supplies

Minutes old having skin to skin with Daddy

 

Charting, measuring, picture taking. Probably an hour after birth. 

 

early morning snuggles

The Homebirth of a Rainbow Baby

[A “rainbow baby” is a baby that is born following a miscarriage or still birth.  Just like a rainbow following a storm, renewing hope.]

I was 411/2 weeks pregnant and very ready for this baby to be on the outside.  No matter how adamant I am about babies coming on their own time, I was looking for that magic trick that would make me go into labor, because I was ready!  I was anxious.  My birthing area was taunting me every day.  And my belly was very very large.  I was having prodromal labor from about 35 weeks (irregular contractions that do not go away with change in position, activity, or food/drinks like braxtons do but they also aren’t real labor contractions). This baby, just like his brother and sister, was still floating high in my belly and was not engaged in my pelvis at all.  My midwife was not concerned about being past due and was very reassuring that this baby WOULD eventually come out.  That Friday night I prayed a prayer much different than the previous nights, where I was begging God and Mother Mary to help this baby move down and start labor.  That night I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for this new life and I gave my anxiety over to Him and accepted His will.  I felt much at peace after that prayer.  I knew I’d have my baby on Sunday.  Divine Mercy Sunday.

Saturday morning I lost my mucus plug and contractions started to feel real.  They were about 20 minutes apart.  I made breakfast, cleaned the house, then took a nap.  I woke up, made dinner, put the kids to bed, then turned on the TV and bounced on the birth ball.  I told Adam to go to bed because one of us had to be rested if this was going to end up being a 3 day labor, like Caroline.  Contractions were about every 10 minutes.  I was very tired and ready to sleep but it wasn’t possible at this point.  I watched TV while pacing the floor or bouncing on the ball until I couldn’t concentrate on the TV any longer.  It was around 11pm.  I turned on the computer and put on a playlist of the Divine Mercy Chaplet in song, along with a handful of other hymns.  I sang along when I could and meditated through contractions.  While I was pregnant I made a list of intentions to pray for during labor, friends and family going through rough times to offer my labor pains up for.  It really was wonderful to have something outside of myself to help me with labor.  Having intentions and prayers to focus on also kept me from having stupid songs randomly on repeat in my head.

At 1 am I called my midwife and told her that contractions were about every 5 minutes, but I was still coping well alone and she did not have to come yet.

I found a lot of comfort being on my hands and knees during labor and I’d lounge back and rest on a pile of pillows in between contractions.

At 4:30 am I called my midwife and told her to make her way over.  I knew I was in transition.  Some contractions were back to back some were 2 minutes apart.

She arrived around 5am and quietly got her things set up, she took my BP and the baby’s heart beat.  She felt my belly to see what position baby was in and how far down he was.  No internal checks.  Having her presence was wonderful and her touch was just what I needed.

Around 6 am Adam woke up and came to see how things were progressing.  At this point I was getting very mad at the pain and I was very emotional.  When I saw Adam, I clung to him in a big embrace, and he gave me the strength that I needed.

I was fully dilated soon after that and felt a little pushy, but not much.  My water hadn’t broken yet either.  I  did not feel like pushing, but my midwife and her assistant were telling me to push with the pain, so I did.  It was awful.  I got in a lot of different positions but nothing felt right (anyone see a pattern here?)  My water finally did break and it had very light meconium stain.  Then at some point at the end of those two horrible, hot, sweaty hours the baby moved into the birth canal and came out in a contraction or two.  I was on my hands and knees.  Adam announced, with much excitement, which part of the baby’s head/face he saw as baby was being born.  It was so sweet.  Then my midwife and Adam caught baby and passed him to me.  I saw he was a boy right away.  We rubbed him and talked to him.  He let out a big cry.  Samuel Frederick was born at 8:27am on Divine Mercy Sunday.  My shortest labor.

I sat back and snuggled him while my Midwife did a few checks and cleaned some things up.  When his cord stopped pulsing, it was tied and cut.  The placenta came out.  I got into bed to relax and Samuel got measured and weighed.  I passed a few clots and a ton of blood, which has been typical for me.  I felt fine.  Actually, I felt better once it all came out.  My midwife asked if I wanted a shot of pitocin to help with the blood, I said no, unless she felt like it was the best thing to do.  I took a few droppers full of “after ease” and Shepherds purse herbal tincture instead.  Everything was well.

My Mother in law came and took the big kids to her house once they woke up ( I was still in labor) and she brought them back after Samuel was born and things had gotten cleaned up.  We all snuggled Sammy and took some pictures.

Adam and Caroline had such emotionally charged births.  Adams birth was traumatic and led to postpartum depression.  Carolines birth was empowering and led to a major “birth high” that left me excited and in love with the whole birth experience for weeks.  Samuel’s birth was how I feel birth is meant to be.  Just birth.  Simple but beautiful.  It wasn’t hyped up, it wasn’t downplayed.  I didn’t have to stress out over being in charge of everything.  I had the right help to make it easy and relaxing for me.   My body went into labor on it’s own and took it’s time moving my baby into the world.  It was hard work, I had to do it, but it was worth it.  And now, a month after his birth, I feel grounded.  I’m here.  Present.  Not sad or still in the clouds.  I love every second of being a mom to these three beautiful children.  Samuel, himself, is also the perfect mix between my two older children, in looks and in temperament.

He has brought balance. And so much love.  Even the earth seemed to rejoice with me in his birth, coming to life in blossoms, green grass, and sunny skies!

Pregnancy with Samuel

Right in the middle of summer I conceived Samuel.  Right in time to be exhausted and nauseous for harvesting and putting up veggies from the garden (but I’m very happy to say that I managed to do enough to last us through the fall and most of the winter)  I had a very busy first trimester and it flew by in a flash.  Then with my second trimester came winter time and I was so thankful for the rest.  It also came time to tell my family that I was expecting.  Some of them already had suspicions because my dear daughter kept talking about babies in bellies and may or may not have put a couple of steamed shrimp down her shirt at dinner one night to pretend that they were her babies in her belly.  Regardless, it was nice to have that secret.  It was a happy and stress-free time.

This pregnancy was pretty uneventful.  It went by quickly with no problems.  However at my first appointment with a midwife team that I was interviewing, they said I was measuring very big, 2 months bigger.  One of the midwives suspected twins, the other suspected a fibroid.  So I went for an ultrasound at 18 weeks to figure everything out.  Just one baby who was measuring right on track and no fibroid.  All that fuss for nothing.  So I found myself a new midwife.  Which was a blessing and a huge relief.  I was on the fence about having a midwife to being with.  After doing everything myself with my last birth, the idea of trusting someone else to make judgments about my labor was a little scary for me.  Then when those two midwives were totally wrong about just the size of my uterus, it was the icing on my cake of doubt. But in the end, if I could have a midwife this time, I would.  So I kept looking.  And an amazing midwife showed up and put everything to ease.

I didn’t have any crazy cravings.  I wasn’t too emotional.  My blood pressure actually got lower as my pregnancy progressed.  My body felt good.  It was a very balanced and simple pregnancy.  It went by very quickly.  Until the last month anyway.  But no surprise there.

My Little Ray

[ I like going by the rule of not announcing a pregnancy until into the 13th week, because not all pregnancies are permanent in the first trimester, and it’s easier and less heartbreaking to deal with a loss in private instead of having to let 100+ people know while something so tragic is happening.  But I also believe that every stage of life is important and beautiful and in need of recognition. Therefore, I share my story and the story of my lost child. ]

And so it goes, I was pregnant and miscarried two times in seven months.

My first miscarriage was the product of a failed pregnancy, otherwise knows as a blighted ovum.  I was “pregnant” with every symptom for 12 weeks before my body noticed I wasn’t actually growing a baby and miscarried.  Recovery took about 6 weeks.

Three months later I conceived!  I got a positive pregnancy test very early on and my belly started to feel full, neither of which was the case during my last pregnancy.  I was very excited and hopeful,  but the scare of another miscarriage was still a concern.  I was only a little bit nauseous but had a lot of food aversions and I was very emotional all.the.time.  I was also plagued with fatigue and constantly had to pee!  But I was also like that with my blighted ovum.  So who knows?   I was 7 weeks pregnant when I noticed some of my symptoms go away and then I had two days of horrible nausea, cramps, backache, and heartburn.  A few days passed in which I felt fine, then I had an upset stomach again, and on one trip to the bathroom I saw some blood.  It wasn’t bright red, so I thought it might just be some spotting caused by my upset stomach.  But over the evening it got heavier and brighter and my heart sank.  I was sure the same thing was happening again.  A blighted ovum.  So I just prepared myself for what I knew was coming and prayed that it would happen fast, instead of dragging on for a week like last time.

The next day contractions started.  When they became fast and painful I went to the bathroom and drew a bath.  Like last time, Caroline was on my heels and she wanted a bath too!  But I was already in and she was out with a poopy diaper so I wasn’t too thrilled about that.  But  regardless, I wasn’t going to have her scream at me the whole time, so I stripped her down and wiped her butt the best I could and plopped her in the water with me.  Then with the splashing and the toys and the poop and the blood, it was just way too gross. I got out, drained the water, and slowly filled the tub again for her while I sat on the toilet.  The contractions weren’t as hard this time, probably because I knew what to expect.  And the blood wasn’t as free flowing this time either.  I felt the pressure on my bottom and knew that it would be over soon.  I did not want it to come out in the toilet, but it did.  I debated for a while if I was going to scoop it out or just flush it.  But I knew I would regret flushing it, especially if it wasn’t a blighted ovum.  I got up and cleaned myself off.  I got Caroline out of the tub and dried her off.  Then I sent her running naked around the house.  Conveniently there was a plastic straw laying on the floor, so I used that to push the toilet paper out of the way and push the sac to the surface.  I scooped it out and noticed that it was a lot bigger than it was last time and when I turned it around in my hand I saw the baby.  Little black eyes, stubby little fingers and toes,  still translucent.  I was shocked and numb to see that there was actually a baby.  I laid my baby in a pretty glass bowl.  And went to snuggle my kids on the couch.

We wanted to name our baby, but a girls name didn’t seem fitting, neither did a boys name, and neither did a unisex name.  So I figured we’d just name it after the Patron Saint of miscarriages.   Adam suggested to name the baby after my Pappy, Raymond.  And while searching for the Saint, I found that St. Raymond is the patron saint of pregnant women, childbirth, and children.   And so “Ray”mond seemed to be the perfect, almost divine, name for our lost baby.

I wanted to heal from this as fast as I could (unlike last time, which was fall harvest, so I was apple picking and garlic planting just days after) so I didn’t do much other than sit around for 2 weeks.  I had a lot of support and it was a very relaxing/healing time for me.  I healed fast and started doing things to heal my uterus from both of these miscarriages.  I did Maya abdominal massages, to make sure my uterus was in the correct position ( did you know that 90% of women have a displaced uterus?!)  I also took some herbal bathes, did meditations,  and ate more nourishing foods.

It’s been two months.  We just buried Ray and the products of my blighted ovum this past weekend under a newly planted tree (it was in the freezer) I said a prayer and told her that I would see her in heaven one day.  It wasn’t very ceremonial or emotional but it was a relief to let her go. I’ll love her and think of her forever.

An Update

I said that I’d update everyone on how long I bled for after my miscarriage, but when it stopped, about 2 weeks later, I found myself in and out of depression and everything I wrote was sad.  When I wrote my original story, I was at peace with what had happened.  That peace seemed to come and go for a while. Like they say, “live in the past and you’ll be depressed, live in the future and you’ll be anxious, live in the present and you’ll be at peace”.  I still went through postpartum symptoms: hair loss, hormones, and itchy breasts to boot. Those things were hard to deal with. Those pesky hormones had me weeping all the time.   Also, I was battling a upper respiratory/sinus infection which left me with awful sinus headaches, loss of smell/taste, and a bad cough.  My body felt like a war zone.  My cold started a few days before my miscarriage and it raged on for a good month and a half before dying down into just sniffles and a little cough, that I still have now.  I was eating whole lemons covered in honey and sauteing garlic cloves in olive oil and eating them whole (lemons and honey are fantastic cold soothers and garlic is a natural antibiotic)  Since I was sick with a cold, I was worried that my uterus wasn’t healing properly because so much was going on with my body.  But thankfully, my uterus seemed to heal faster than my cold did.  Looking back, I’m impressed that I functioned as well as I did.  I should have taken time to rest, but every time I sat down my mind ran straight to sad thoughts.  Luckily, I have connections to an apple orchard and I was able to collect 4 free bushels of apples, so that kept me busy, and happy.

I’m currently experiencing my first period post miscarriage.  It’s more painful and heavier than my periods usually are, but so are most first periods postpartum.

After I shared my story, I heard from a lot of women who had experienced miscarriage, thanking me for sharing.  It was heart warming and saddening to hear these responses.  Miscarriage is a huge loss, even in my situation.  Too many women have to experience this.  I’m just very glad that I already have two healthy children.  I will never take them for granted.  Hopefully I’ll be blessed with more.

Natural Miscarriage of a Blighted Ovum

Only two months after my return to fertility (which was a whole 10 months after Carolines’  birth, thank you breastfeeding!) I started noticing pregnancy symptoms.  I couldn’t stop eating! I was so tired! I didn’t want to be touched or talked to! Ahh!  Okay, it really wasn’t that bad…but I knew something was up.  I knew exactly when I had ovulated and I knew that’s exactly the time when Adam and I were feeling extra intimate. So I knew there was a HUGE likely hood of pregnancy.

I took about 3 pregnancy tests in 7 weeks and they all were negative and I believed them, despite my other symptoms,  for the simple fact that my belly just didn’t feel pregnant.  But then the nausea hit and I knew for sure I was.  At 8 weeks I finally got a positive reading!  Which is really late for me, my other pregnancies were “officially” made known almost instantly.  But regardless of that, our family started making adjustments for the upcoming baby!  And I actually found a midwife who was willing to do a home birth with me despite Maryland’s law against home birth midwives!  However, I tried to find some connection to the new baby in my belly, but there just wasn’t one.  With my other pregnancies I felt a strong connection to each of them very early on.  I even had an idea of what gender they were (which has been right both times!)  Nothing with this one.  But every baby is different, every pregnancy is different.  the connection will come, I told myself.

At exactly 12 weeks, I went to the bathroom and saw blood.  A good amount of blood.  Not spotting.  Bleeding. “No No No No” I said shaking my head over and over again. Not this.  But when bleeding starts, there is no stopping it.  I knew I was miscarrying.  I pulled myself together and told Adam what was happening.  Then I googled “natural miscarriage”.  I had only a vague idea of what was involved in a miscarriage.  No one talks about it.  I knew that I didn’t not want a D&C    ( Just the thought of someone artificially opening my cervix and scrapping my insides out made me never want to spread my legs again!)  and I knew that it might take a few days before the baby came out.  But that’s pretty much all I knew.  The stories online that I found were horror stories.  Lots of blood and so much pain.  Great.  I was scared. I was so sad. I was mad.  I felt so guilty for not making my baby feel welcome enough in my belly.  I was so sorry for killing my baby.

During the next three days I was just bleeding like a normal period and I had absolutely no cramps.  “Maybe my baby is just fine, Maybe i’m just bleeding a little bit, that happens sometimes, right?”  “Maybe I have an ectopic pregnancy and I’m going to die any second”  ” when did my baby die, why did it die?”  “when will the pain start?”  so many questions and fears went through my mind.  I was mad with emotion.  I just wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out.

Friday afternoon the pain started, low pinchy cramps.  Blood started flowing faster.  Contractions came every 30 seconds and lasted for 30 seconds.  I was too uncomfortable to sit.  Or stand.  I told Adam he better come home now because I didn’t know how fast or slow this process would be.  Then I went to lay down with Caroline while she was waking up from her nap and I gathered myself together.  I told my body that I trusted it.  I told me body to let my baby out.  I told me body it had permission to do what it needed to do.  I surrendered to what was happening.

I came downstairs to four silly crazy kids ( I babysit a few extras) who wanted snacks, wanted to color, wanted to watch TV and I was just about to go crazy.  Where was my husband!  The bath tub was already calling my name.  But sitting on the toilet would have to do until he got home.  Caroline was feeling my distress and wouldn’t let me alone.  Then next thing I knew there was a knock at the door!  It was L here to pick up her kids, but she was an 1 1/2 early, so I wasn’t expecting her at all.  However I’m very thankful that L lets herself  in because I wasn’t being fast about getting out of the bathroom!  After saying goodbye to the kid I called Adam to see where he was at then headed back to the bathroom as fast as I could.

The contractions came so fast and so strong.  I found myself rocking and humming.  Then I heard Adams’ wonderful voice as he picked Caroline up and took her out of the room.  I got off the toilet, threw some towels on the floor, then eased into the hot water of the bath tub.   Instant relief!  The tub water soon turned red and the next thing I knew I was giving little pushes.  It amazed me that I still felt so much pressure on my bottom for not even delivering a full sized baby!  The sac came first (that’s where the baby grows)  Then the placenta.  Both were about the size of an extra large chicken egg.  The pain stopped immediately and was soon forgotten.

There I was sitting in a messy tub just staring at the “products of conception” that I had just birthed.  My dead baby hiding somewhere in the yolk sac.  Swaying gently in the water just like it did in my belly.  It was very emotional.  I sobbed to myself trying to gather up the courage to scoop it out of the water and say goodbye to my baby.  Would it be deformed?  How big would it be?  Could I handle seeing it’s little fingers, nose, and toes?  I knew that to fully heal from this I had to look.  I had to hold it. I had to say goodbye.  I looked about the bathroom trying to find something perfect to lay everything in.  I had wanted to grab one of my nice antique bowls for the occasion, but I forgot to.  The only thing was an ugly orange plastic bowl.  I scooped the placenta up first.  It was perfect and whole.  I wasn’t expecting that.  All the stories I read said that the placenta doesn’t completely form until the 4th month.  All the women said that it came out in pieces.  Mine didn’t.  It was perfect.  The fact that it was perfect made me sad.  Big sigh.  Then I picked up the sac.  Very strange.  I looked all around.  Inside and out.  Where was the baby?  The baby grows here.  There is no baby!  I searched the bathtub.  Nothing but Blood and clots floating around.  How can there not be a baby?  How could I have been pregnant for 12 weeks without a baby growing?   I mean, I never had an ultrasound or heard a heartbeat so I guess it’s possible.  How strangely wonderful.

I called out to Adam to see what time it was.  Only  45 minutes had passed since I felt the first twinge of pain.  I was amazed at how fast it had happened.  I got into the shower to rinse and wash.  Wrapped myself in my rob and stood about for a while.  I asked Adam if he wanted to see anything.  He came in and I explained what happened.  I remembered reading about this type of thing, but the miscarriage usually happened a lot earlier.  Sometimes before one even knew she was pregnant.  I cleaned up the towels, flushed the toilet, and drained the tub.  I emailed my midwife and searched the internet for a while.  We both came up with the same conclusion.  Blighted Ovum.

Sperm meets egg.  Pregnancy starts.  Hormones are sent out.  Placenta grows.  Sac grows.  Baby doesn’t.  Either sperm is infertile or egg is.  Since I had just returned to fertility, it is very possible that my egg was infertile.  The body usually sends out a few infertile eggs to get things “up and running” after a pregnancy.  So much makes sense now!  I never felt like there was a baby in my belly.  Because there wasn’t.  What wonderful intuition I have!  A sense of peace overcame me.  Happiness.  Thankfulness.  Gods plan is greater than all else.

I’d really like to reiterate that although this was an awful experience, it was not the horror that I had read about.  The pain wasn’t unbearable .  It was not scary.  The blood loss wasn’t terrible.  If there is anyone reading this who is going through a similar situation, trust your body, let it be.  My thoughts and love are with you.

I’m still bleeding now, 3 days after my miscarriage.  I expect to continue period type bleeding for a while.  And occasional cramps and a sore cervix.  I’ll update when the bleeding stops.

Through all the sadness of this last week, there were some very good things that happened.  Obviously the fact that there was no baby is a joy, but we still have to morn the loss of a baby either way.  The real good that came from this is the affirmation that my body knows what it’s doing.  My intuition is strong and I’m in tune with it.  And best of all…the love and compassion I felt from my family.  The hugs, the tears, the kind words.  It’s breathtaking.   And I’m very blessed.